Chapter Text
Tommy was fine, he'll be ay-okay!
"It's just a dinner..." he murmurs, brushing his hair back, numb fingers feeling through his oily muck filled hair. "Just shovel it all down, and you'll..."
He'll what? Be fine?
Ha! As if, Tommy knew in his very soul that something would go wrong if he planned it out. Just like his business, his dreams, his—
'The discs, Tommy'
Oh, Prime, he felt hid whole body shiver at the mere word. Why did the green shit stain just have to have a name that was also a common word? Improper, if you asked him.
Don't be harsh, he was your friend!
No he wasn't, he—
Gave you an island? went to your party?
He-he's the reason I'm alone!
No he isn't. You were just meant to stay alone.
A choked sob leaves his lips as he nearly toppled over the miniature balcony, his teary eyes already feeling icy as the cold wind blew over.
But what really hurt was his head. (Liar, its your heart.)
The seeping green glow of it, the cool yet also warm wound felt like an unwelcome hug to his brain. He could still feel Dream's hand on it, mashed potato messing with his hair when the man just kept.. experimenting.
Move on,he tries to tells himself as he stumbles back, finding himself near the chimmney. Techno must've installed an underground level, probably to warm up the villagers underground..
Good. Means he could kick find a hole and if anyone sees him...
Whatever. Tommy doesn't even think as he flicking a lighter open, grabbing a half burnt cigarette as he leans back.
And as the nicotine burns, his mind practically warps like a dog salivating after hearing a bell.
This is good.
Tommy was good like this.
His lungs filled with smoke, his kind swirling with little thought. It meant he could be quiet, better, 'preferable' to others. Sober him hated this side of him, but who fucking cares? Him being high as the pillar he made meant he could soar away from his problems.
Even if it meant dropping as he did back then.
"Haha.. I'm gonna die alone." Tommy sniffled, wiping his nose as he blew a puff, his dull eyes mirroring the smokey air.
Maybe he should go in there like this.
Wilbur could be happy for him! He'll be just like his big brother!
Philza and Techno might argue about it, scold him even but thats fine. They'll like him like this, droopy and numb.
Oh, but Tubbo and Ranboo might grow more distant of him, they looked like two vegetarian environmentalist protesting couple. That's good for them, get rid of the bad influence, get a sober life free of a fuck up like him.
Just as he was sitting down, Tommy felt a bump in his back pocket and finds—
A cannister? When did he...
Opening it, he tooks a whiff and his brain buzzed.
Alcohol. The one... the one he stole from Sam's cabinet. The man caught him at the time, believing Tommy was just out to scavenge his things for scrap, and the boy played it off like that.
He really did regret stealing it. Wanted Sam to be there for his 'first' drink as an 'adult'.
But Tommy was sure of it. He doubt Sam would reat normal if he didn't react the first time he tried the hard pure alcohol he owned.
That, and Tommy would never grow up.
He'll stay as a child. One that everyone hates, one that'll chase and chase until he rots in a hole, alone.
So he tales a swig, the taste burns his lips like the first time, but it was welcome.
He'll probably puke it up later, he realized, remembering he hasn't eaten jack shit.
Whatever, a problem for future Tommyinn—
"Theseus!.... Toms?" A british voice calls.
Wilbur.
Tommy practically sobers up in an instant, kicking a rock off the chimney as smoke pratically assaults his nose. He curses as the cigarrete falls right into it, but at least he's burned off the evidence.
He's left a coughing mess though, with Wilbur immeadietly catching his curses, as he stumbled into the snow. Cannister hastily shoved to his pocket as he flailed like a fish.
Hands. Leather and warm, scoop him by the arm pits.
Did Wilbur grow taller? And stronger? Man's built like a twink, he doubts that after being revived he'd.. change.
For the better.
Unlike him.
"Hey, hey..." He's helped onto his feet, hastily stumbling back away from his...his... from Wilbur. "I got– ah, okay." He chuckled like wine.
He was always a wine guy, before Pogtopia.
Wilbur was a sophisticated man, it was why he was into what Tommy called 'rich guy hobbies'. Theater, poetry, the arts of any kind he.... Wilbur had that put together aura that he always admired.
Because he was the adult that took his scrappy ass in. Laughed at his mess, and cheered at his smallest accomplishments.
His brother. His.. false-brother.
Wilbur died when he lost that election, this... this was a man that shouldn't exist.
"I know I'm technically dead, but c'mon, Techno made sure I'm not a zombie." He tries to joke, but Tommy doesn't buy it. Like some spunky cat that was standing still with raised fur, Tommy gripped the cloak closer, tried to put his angry face on even if his mind craved to relax.
"Don't care, still hate you."
As if he had the right to hate hi..
"I... understand, but can't we talk, sunshi—"
Sunshine, sunshine, sunsh—
"Don't... don't call me that."
Wow, was he seriously tearing up from a nickname?
"Right, sorry... I—"
"And for the record.." he walks towards him. "No." He hissed, bumping shoulders.
Tommy wasn't sure where to go, he's practically heading into Carl's stable, but he wanted to get away from Wilbur.
One, because he wasn't ready to have a one on one with the man that first took him in.
Second, because he could still tell he had that cigarrete smell.
He didn't mean to walk up to Wilbur, the anger in him just wanted to... push. To grab him by the collar and yell— hell, maybe beg— him for answers for why did he just... have to go insane?
Why did he die and live as Ghostbur? Haunting him with the sweetness of the brother before the SMP?
Why was his revival celebrated while Tommy's was barely even acknowledged? Wilbur barely had his marbles when he came back but Tommy? He could still recall it all.
The feeling of the cold to heat, the pain, the push and pull... his head hurts—
A scream erupts from his throat as he did indeed stumble into Carl's stables, face planting right into the haybells as the horse nudged his back curiously. The motion was sickening, with an empty stomach besides yesterdays scraps and today's bile and aclohol, he felt like barfing right therer.
Great, just fucking great.
He vaguely hears Wilbur scream— of concern? Ha! As if— before two hands are struggling to help him out of the haybell.
He probably thinks Tommy was being useless again. A menace, a little shit that couldn't do anything righ—
A hand, larger, warmer, pulls him out and he's mrt with Techno's poet shirt. His long hair loosened down to a half braid as he stared down at him.
"Dinner's ready, freshen up." He chuffs, dropping him unceremoniously as he tells Wilbur to fix up the table.
Tommy was left by Carl's stable, the horse gently nudging his messy locks as his stomach debata on whether or not he should puke.
Dinner's definelty going to be great.
Ranboo had to call out to him when he wasn't inside yet, the tall bloke even tried to offer to help inside when he saw Tommy stumble up the stairs.
Obviously, he declined, despite feeling bad when he saw the enderman wilt at his rejection.
Fucking deserves it, he reasons, that's what he get for replacing him.
He's heard everyone praise his presence, his awkward gimmicks and kindness. Ranboo, as enigmatic as he was, was beloved the way Tommy wished he was.
Hell, he wished Ranboo never visited him when he was in exile, maybe hating him would be easier. At least he was married or whatever to Tubbo, the jealousy of that fact was enough to make him want to claw his heart out as a congratulations gift.
Warmth was not a welcome feeling to his senses as he came in, his body convulsed at the sudden shift of temperature, which only made him want to puke even more. But he held back, luckily, doing his best to walk straight as one hand subtly held the cannister while the other used the wall as support.
Tubbo was the first to notice his presence, perking up with a smile that did little help to his already swimming stomach. The hybrid was helping Wilbur set up the table, which the latter seemed to be trying to recall how it looked as he stared down at different sized forks in dumbfounded confusion and focus.
Meanwhile, Ranboo slips past him to help Philza set out the food in equal portions as Technoblade finishes up something.
Tommy doesn't bother helping, not like it looked he could nor was anyone telling him to move to do something.
'Cause you're a puppet.' A disgusting voice whispers in his head as he sinks to the wooden chair, watching as everyone seemed to just move to a rhythm. A pattern or familiarity that he was intruding as each time they'd glance or pass by him they'd stumble as if recalling he was a variable out of their control. 'Can't do anything right, like a kid that needs a step by step manual by the second.'
Yeah, so what if he did need help. He.. Tommy always did things wrong according to everyone anyways! He's not.. He's not hard to handle, everyone was the ones being confusing!
Or maybe he got revived wrong. Hit too much maybe a piece of his brain flung out to the lava, burned some vital piece for his brain to work right.
Yeah, thats gotta be it.
"You still hate carrots?" Phil's voice perks up and he shoots his head up to meet ocean blue eyes. Carrots. Right he...
"I'm not a kid." Tommy scoffs
"I know, mate, just saved some soup for you without em." He smiles, placing a bowl of soup to his right. The steam perfectly filling the air with warmth like a soft blanket to his face as he sniffed it.
It was Wilbur's recipe. Or maybe Phil's. Either way, it was one Wilbur made when food became a bounty-filled bunch. One that he always ate at midnight when the wind was blowing too cold and he'd hug him oh so tight—
Shut up, shut up, the hands that cradled him then were stained in blood.
But they held him, no? Does it matter? They were still hands that caressed him... and...
He shakes his head, forget it, he tells himself as he takes a spoonful. With some of it spilling to his shirt— oh crap, he hasn't done his laundry, well Ranboo's here anyway— and his chest blooms with the familiarity before he's huffing at the burn on his throat.
"Careful, mate!" Phil chuckles, in that playful but worried tone. No, just playful. The man should bask in his pain, they were enemies. Ex-family.
(Gods, he wants a family. His family.)
Tommy's depressive spiral was prematurely paused as Techno held a tray to his shoulder. Something hot and warm filling the air..
It was strangely... familiar.
And not in a good way, no, this.. this was different. A bad type of familiarity.
He couldn't fully recall why, the dinner thing with Bad's Egg Empire or whatever had food but nothing like this.
Pogtopia? Maybe? But Wilbur always left the cooking to Techno, and the only crop there was..
..potatoes..
"Whatcha cooked Techno?" Tubbo pipes up, finally sitting down with Ranboo as Phil set down the last bowl of food to the center. Wilbur was still fidgeting to the side, trying to decide whether he should sit with Tommy or Phil.
He hopes it's Phil. Not when Tommy's assum
"Pfft, what else?" The piglin shrugs, giving everyone a plate before leaving the last one for Tommy.
"Mash Potato with my own special twist."
Mash potato. Hah. Ironic.
He was about to eat the very thing that killed him. Maybe eating it would heal him, he once thought when Puffy was explaining some therapy methods, that facing his trauma is a way to heal. But not like this— he.. Tommy had plans. He really did! He wanted to be the one to sow the plant— you reap what you sow and all that!— be the one to cook it. Be the one to choose it.
It'd mean he's in control.
But right now? Far from it.
Bile bubbles up his chest, and he keeps his lips shut as he stares down at the mashed spud. A bit of iron and he swears he'd be back in that god forsaken prison, rotting and living simultaneously like some fuckass quantum theory or whatever that cat is called.
He feels a hand on his shoulder— Techno— and he nearly flinched as he moved away.
"What? I know we're enemies, but you loved my potatoes." He huffs, sitting down beside him with Phil. "I have enough pride not to poison you." He grunts, earning a scold from the man beside him. And as if to prove it, he placed a glass of milk for Tommy before gingerly taking some of the veggie soup Phil made.
Phil looks at him, leaning on his elbows to the table, tilting his head. "Ignore him, let's dig in." And everyone did.
Except Tommy.
He really tried. He swears, he's intruding a home he broke in before, meddling with a family that pushed him away, and now he was invited as if things were... fine. Normal, even. So he does try, to grab a spoon and take some.
But the way it moves, the same starchy glob he saw in that heated room. The soup was looking too red, and his face was getting too wet.
Tommy pushes the dish to the side, opting to sip at Phil's soup, occasionally poking a piece of the cooked meat for a bite. The bile in his throat was still threatening to spill as everyone talked all so casually.
Was it because he was quiet they chatted along with ease? Good, stay invisible, then no one will see him leave—
"Toms." Wilbur pipes up, the room falling to a softer volum as eyes glanced at him. "You haven't even finished your soup?" And you're leaving already? Went unsaid as he bites into dish.
Stupid prick with his observant skills.
"Yeah, no, I uh.." Geez, he could make an excuse at gun point, he was seriously loosing his touch. "I gotta take care of Shroud– my little spider dude guy— so ya know..."
Tommy shrugs, trying to slowly stand but Techno stops him.
"No, sit down. Lets talk first before you leave."
Bitch.
So he sits, bile still threatening to spill like fireworks set to explode.
Tommy though it was Techno who was one to open up, but of course, he was just playing messenger as Phil coughs. Face irked at the two brothers before smiling at Tommy.
A smile that said he knee something.
"Toms, I know everyone in this room has been... distant with you lately." He explains, slow like he was a child that couldn't understand.
Or maybe a small animal that was easily frightened.
He continues. "I understand you're 17, you and Wilbur—" he points at the man who barely moves, like he knew something too (why was he looking at him like he was a kid?) "—practically raised each other but.."
Phil stands, taking something from his inner pocket. "Thats not an excuse— hell, a reason— to drink and smoke your life away."
His cannister.
How- but—
He looks down and sees a crow feather.
Crow.
The birds.
Oh
No.
No no no nonononono—
"Tommy you've been what—"
"W-wait I thought– isn't that unhealthly and illegal—"
Tubbo's spluttered as Ranboo stands abruptly in shock at the reveal, but Tommy doesn't care. Not when crows reveal themselves from over the cupboards, dropping ciggarete butts and red lighters.
Phil stands away from his chair, slowly walking towards him as he gestures Ranboo and Tubbo to quiet down.
"I'm not mad." Yeah, right.
He had to be. Or maybe he wasn't. Tommy never really could read the man.
"–we're all just worried about you mate. This isn't healthy—"
"Why do you care?" He snaps.
God why is he snapping? Phil is caring– cares about him right now!
That itch, the stupid sting in his head was burning to be tamed. To finally ease, relax, and feel the way he felt all those years ago before L'manburg or Pogtopia.
He stands– because he's a big man, even if Phil could tower him with his presence alone— hands slamming on the table as he barks out; "You're not my... I'm an independent adult, mind you!"
"You're still a child, Theseus." Techno grumbles, slowly standing, his shadow casting over him to the point Tommy felt his whole body shiver. "Just listen to Phil—"
"No!" Tommy cries out, chest heaving as his emotions swirled in his head.
They don't get to– to.. berate him! Nor scold!
Phil never checked on him after Techno sent out those withers— actively called him Theseus with so much venom Tommy got weak in the knees.
Techno made that shallow truce– yeah. Maybe he was partly in the wrong but.. he just wanted his home back! His bestfriend!
And oh, Tubbo. He replaced him. Tubbo got rid of him as his friend, he could see it in since he came back. The way Tubbo hitched his shoulders or inched to Ranboo.
Ranboo was a manipulator too! Burrowed into the empty holes of everyones hearts where Tommy once resided in. Now no one loved him.
No one even checked on him when he died.
Not Sam, who should've kept him safe from Dream.
Not Jack, who stole his hotel.
Not Puffy, who walked on eggshells around him.
Someone touches his shoulder and Tommy could feel himself falling. Heat engulfs his body, the smell of potato stinging his nose as blood fills his head.
He's gonna die.
They're gonna kill him!
He doesn't wanna go back there.
Ripped apart and put together until he isn't even sure if the pieces used were his original skin.
So he pushes.
Wilbur falls, but Techno catches him, and Tommy's mind registers this to push the table over at Phil who squaks as Ranboo and Tubbo try to stop him.
But he's quick. He always was. Maybe not as quick as before but– the sting. The burn. That tells him he's in danger! That his heart was going to be ripped and he neede dto leave!
Run! His mind weeps as he stumbles out the door, hitting his shoulder and hip in the process as he scrambles out the house like a raccoon.
The cold should bring him back, but that makes him panic more.
Was he dead?
God the potato smell—
"Fuck!" He screams, falling off the railing as he barely registers it. His stomach gets the blunt of the wood, toppling him over as his stomach sloshed with alcohol and he couldn't hold it anymore.
His guts spill out, alcohol and what little soup he stomached spills to the snow as someone shouts his name.
"Toms!"
"Shit— I got gapples—"
"No, get the splash potions, Tech'"
"Got some already–"
"Ranboo hold him down–"
Tommy snaps his head up.
No one gets to touch him. Not the hands that wounded him, no, they don't get the pleasure of killing him. He refused—
"Don't touch me!"
"Toms.. your..you—"
"..Tommy how do you have..."
Why was Phil and Ranboo looking at him like that?
Who was he kidding. Everyone looked at him like that. Like he grew horns and finally turned into the demon he was.
He feels blood trickle down his face.
Did he hit his face hard? No, the snow was pretty soft so...
"C'mere, sunshine, everything is alright. We just wanna talk..."
Sunshine! He called him sunshine!
He shivers at the nickname. Focus Tommy. They're liars! All of them!
No one loved you before you died, no one will after you were revived.
No one.
"Don't call me that." He hissed, wobbling back as he fought the urge to puke again, hands gripping his hair as his visions blurs and swirls.
"Mate—"
"Tommy—"
Useless.
Who's speaking?
"C'mon we'll patch you up—"
"..those... rn..s.."
Everyone's voices was echoing.
It hurts.
His head.
His stomach.
His back.
Everything.
'Just take me back to before everyting.'He prayed, to who? He wasn't sure anymore, but one thing was sure.
He was definitely heard.
For one moment, the cold bit his skin, and now stone engulfed his body.
Its dark.
Did he die?
That'd be nice.